"Do you—do other men come to see you often? Like those two kids?"
The question surprised her. The dark velvet eyes stared at him.
"Why, of course they do. All the time. Why—I've told you in letters that they did, dearest."
This was true—when he had first come to the city there had been already a dozen boys around her, responding to her picturesque fragility with adolescent worship, and a few of them perceiving that her beautiful eyes were also sane and kind.
"Do you expect me never to go anywhere"—Jonquil demanded, leaning back against the sofa-pillows until she seemed to look at him from many miles away—"and just fold my hands and sit still—forever?"
"What do you mean?" he blurted out in a panic. "Do you mean you think I'll never have enough money to marry you?"
"Oh, don't jump at conclusions so, George."
"I'm not jumping at conclusions. That's what you said."
George decided suddenly that he was on dangerous grounds. He had not intended to let anything spoil this night. He tried to take her again in his arms, but she resisted unexpectedly, saying:
"It's hot. I'm going to get the electric fan."